


The Forked-Tongue of Fate

by startwithsparks



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of the season four finale, Juice comes clean and the rest of the club takes a vote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Juice twist his ring around his middle finger, pressing in against the bite of metal as it circled and made superficial slices on the thin skin between his fingers. Next to him, Chibs was silent, waiting, with his arms folded across his knees and his sunglasses tipped on the top of his head. They'd been sitting there since Jax dismissed everyone from church, edging close to an hour now, and not even a murmur had passed between them. He didn't know how to start - a dozen different excuses and reactions started to come to mind, but they all felt lame. After so long, the words he wanted to say just didn't feel right anymore. He knew if he waited long enough, Chibs would take pity on him and break the silence. When he did, finally, Juice wasn't sure if he was relieved or terrified.

"I know what ye did, lad..." he murmured.

He felt a knot rise up in his throat, nervousness heating his face and down the side of his neck. For a moment he stopped fussing with his ring and scrubbed his hands over his face instead. "Yeah."

"Ye gonna say anythin about it?"

"I can't," he shook his head. "I can't put that on you."

He heard Chibs sigh next to him, heard the thump of his sunglasses on the bed next to them as the older man raked his hands through his hair. Chibs didn't say a lot, but he saw everything, and he understood more than the other guys cared to. In the past, that was the thing that Juice valued the most about him - that he never had to say when he was upset or even what bothered him, Chibs just _knew_. But now it had turned the other way, and he wished that Chibs would just go on being as oblivious about these things, and absorbed in his own drama, as everyone else was.

A movement next to him caused Juice to cast a glance sideways, in time to see Chibs tug off his gloves and fold them over his knee. He shrugged out of his cut next, folding it neatly in half, then piled his gloves and sunglasses on top of it. Rising, Chibs leaned over and set the whole bundle on top of the desk across from the end of the bed. He pulled off his rings, twisting one off at a time, then unloaded the holsters from his shoulder, the back of his jeans, and his boot. The knife at his hip came off next, all of it laid in a pile next to his cut.

"There," he said, turning and sitting on the end of the bed again, one leg tucked under him. "I ain't Chibs now, just Filip, an' there ain't nothin ye can't tell me."

Juice worried his lower lip between his teeth, glancing over at the guns on the desk. He tugged his cut off and laid it on the bed behind him, leaving him in just a white teeshirt and jeans. He hadn't brought his gun with him to the clubhouse - it was still in the plastic personal effects bag they handed to him when he left lockup. He rubbed his hands over the front of his thighs and heaved a heavy exhale.

"The first time Roosevelt picked me up," he started, "he just told me what he knew about my father, and told me we'd be talking again. I thought about saying something then, but I was so afraid that Clay would take my cut that I couldn't, not until I knew why Roosevelt was sweating me."

All of that was relatively easy to say, since Chibs had already put those pieces together. But that just meant that everything from here on out was an uphill struggle. Chibs just sat there, his hands folded in his lap and an impassive expression settled on his face. He was thinking, Juice knew, already making careful decisions based on where this would go. Juice couldn't know for certain that it wouldn't end with him being dragged out of here with a bullet plugged in the back of his head, but he could hope that maybe with Clay out of leadership, someone would know what mercy looked like. If it went the other way, he was ready; anything was better than enduring this alone.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat and forged on. "After that he..." he clenched his jaw, "he told me that he knew the club was working with the cartels, but to prove it he needed a sample of the coke we were moving for them, to trace the chemical makeup." It all came out fast, in one short breath, and he could see the look of understanding pass just as quickly across Chibs' face. "I'm the one who took the coke," he admitted.

"I know," Chibs nodded, "Keep goin, boy... yer alright."

Juice dragged his lower lip between his teeth and nodded. "I was trying to bring it back, just put it where it belongs and no one would be any the wiser about it. But Miles surprised me, he shot and I just reacted. I didn't realize what happened until he was already on the ground and I heard you guys running up on us. I don't really remember any of it," he said, shaking his head, "it's like someone told me what happened and that's the only memory I have until I was washing the blood off later." He exhaled heavily, his voice cracking. "Even then I felt like it was still there, still-" he squeezed his eyes shut, "-stuck to my skin."

He sniffled and rubbed a hand across his face, contorting his head to the side so he couldn't even see Chibs out of his periphery anymore. "When I went to give Roosevelt the coke, he picked me up for possession. That's when I realized that it was bigger than just needing leverage against the cartel. Up to that point I thought if I could maybe turn over the cartel, then I could get us out of the whole mess - give the club reason to vote it out. But they... obviously," Juice's shoulders drew up with this baited tension, "weren't telling me the truth."

Another strained pause stretched between them, and Juice pressed his hands between his knees. "They took me into their war-room," he said, finally looking up. "On the walls there were pictures of us, the IRA, the Mayans, the cartel, and all our associates; they had the information before they ever had me. At the bottom of one of their walls, there were pictures of me and Otto. They were pressing him too - that's probably why they arrested Bobby, because Otto told them that he was responsible for Luann's murder. I don't know what else he told them, but I'm sure he gave them something."

The look on Chibs' face was like everything had finally started to knit together for him - his suspicions and the fragments of other people's secrets he knew were drawing in, making a complete picture. But he didn't look angry. That calm look had settled on him again and instead of clasping his hands in his lap, he had one propped up on the bed next to him and the other draped over his ankle, open and receptive to the confession Juice laid out for him. It still didn't keep the knife of worry from twisting in Juice's gut, but at least he wasn't consumed with the fear that he'd never live to see the outside of this room.

"When they let me out of lockup, I came back here, and Clay gave me the patch. I knew that if I folded, then I would be dead... and if I didn't fold, then all of you would be taken in again, and for a lot longer than fourteen months."

"That's when ye tried to off yerself?" Chibs cut in.

"Yeah," he muttered, "Not that it would have done any good, they still had Otto, but I was..."

"Stupid?"

"Yeah."

"An' selfish," Chibs added.

"That too," Juice sighed. He rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to keep looking at Chibs now that he was giving Juice that disappointed look. He knew what he did was wrong, every part of him knew how wrong it was, but he figured that if he'd been saved it was because he was meant to do something else. Either that or the punishment he'd receive here on Earth was more than anything he'd get in Hell.

He twisted around again so both his legs were slung over the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees. "I couldn't do that to my club," he said, "and obviously it wasn't because I'm afraid of dying; it's because this is all I have left. I don't have a family, I don't have friends, I don't have a future. I only have this. But the way it looked, no matter what I was going to do, I would lose it all. I couldn't live like that. I had no choice."

"Ye _did_ ," Chibs said. "Ye coulda told me about all this before it got so bad. I love ye, boy, but I can't read minds."

"I know," he said, his voice softer now. "I'm sorry... that I didn't trust you."

Chibs nodded, reaching out and brushing his hand over the side of Juice's head. "Keep goin," he said, his thumb trailing against Juice's neck as he let his hand drop away.

He wet his lips, rubbing his hands over his knees. "Roosevelt picked me up again," he said, "just before we were supposed to make the hand-off. Then... then a few hours later, he came in with my files and he said that the ATF had been pulled from the case and everyone's statements were destroyed. He thought I would want to take care of mine myself, and he was sorry - not that it makes anything better - but he'd been played too. We'd all been used to try to make this case and we all caved to the pressure."

Chibs stayed silent, waiting to see if there was more to the confession than that, and when Juice didn't go on to say anything else, he nodded slowly and tugged at the scarf around his throat. "Ye told them where it was happenin?" he asked.

He nodded. "Yeah," Juice breathed. "Technically, I did. But as far as the federal government is concerned, they've never spoken to me. Everything's gone, no one can prove it happened. But I still know, and now you know."

"But it's off the books?" Chibs pressed.

"Yeah. And I assume that whatever Otto told them is gone now too, since they let Bobby out."

He looked like he was barely holding it all together, his voice getting softer and more uneven as he spoke, until with his last words he sounded simply resigned. It was easier to shut down than it was to let himself feel everything at once, unsure of how Chibs was going to react. But instead of saying anything, Chibs leaned over and slid his hand along the back of Juice's neck to draw him in. Juice folded easily against Chibs' chest, his body tense with all the effort it took him to finally confess, and the fear of its repercussions. But Chibs just pressed a kiss to the side of his head, stroking the nape of his neck with his thumb.

"Ye can let go now, lad..." he murmured, his beard scratching Juice's neck as he spoke. "Just relax, an' let go."

He tightened his hold on Juice, wrapping his other arm around his waist to haul him in closer, his arms tight around the boy. Juice scrambled to get his arms around Chibs in return, fisting his fingers in the side of Chibs' shirt to hold him in. He squeezed Juice tighter, that little extra pull all the boy needed to finally break down. The last time he sobbed against Chibs' shoulder like this was the night he found the broken tree branch and Juice trying to hide the evidence of his poor decisions. This time it wasn't the restricted sobs of someone who was still drowning in his own lies, but unconstrained and desperate. Chibs held him tight and let him weep it all out, until he finally stopped trembling against him, his shirt wet from the tears and Juice's face splotched with red.

Only then did he loosen his hold, pressing a kiss to Juice's forehead, then tilted his face up so their gazes met. "Yer gonna be alright," he said, "I'm gonna make sure of it."


	2. Chapter 2

"There ain't any proof that he said anythin, except for his own guilt..." Chibs said, leaning up against the edge of the large redwood table, his hands gripping the side. He'd struggled all night with whether or not to bring this to the table, but by the time Jax came in the next morning he'd come to the realization that, for the good of the club, he had no choice. He knew the risk he was taking, the betrayal of trust it might cause between him and Juice, but if they found out he knew about this and hadn't said anything about it, he'd be sharing the same fate.

Jax paced from end to end in front of the doors, his head down and his arms crossed tight across his chest. "But if he ratted us out this time, why should we think that he won't do it again? We can't trust him now."

Chibs shook his head, "Did ye hear anythin I said?" he asked sharply. "He'd rather die 'an put the club at risk, an' he almost _did_. Ain't that the kind of sacrifice we're askin for?"

With a sigh, Jax stopped and dropped his hands, sliding them into his back pockets instead. Chibs had seen this stance before, his weight on one foot and his shoulders squared, head canted to the side. He clenched his jaw, visibly grinding his back teeth while he thought. "It sets a precedent," Jax started.

"Yeah," Chibs shrugged, "and feedin that ATF gash all the information ye gave her didn't set the same precedent?"

"That was different," Jax retorted, and for a moment Chibs remembered just how young he really was. "We voted."

"We voted on the deal with the cartel too an' we see how well that turned out," he said. Jax glared. "We wouldn't be in this mess at all if Clay didn't go behind our backs an' agree to movin the coke. Ain't a one of us knew what was really goin on, an' the whole mess that came down from it is on his back, includin what happened with Juice."

It might have been manipulative of him, but Chibs wasn't just watching Juice's back anymore, he was watching his own. Clay had always been a vulnerable point for Jax, and now the tensions were bigger and more overwhelming than before. He knew there was something between them, but hadn't figured out exactly what it was. Clay almost had to be behind the threats on Tara, and judging by Opie's attack, he was no doubt behind Piney's death as well. Clay had been slowly picking off everyone who stood between him and what he wanted, and neither his club nor his own family were safe. What he needed to do was remind Jax that he wasn't like Clay, or his father, that he could carve out a place for himself and turn the club around.

"It's no different than the deal with his old man," Chibs said. "If it ain't on the books, it don't matter. Ye gonna have Otto killed for flippin on Bobby too?"

Jax shook his head, lips pressed thin, and continued pacing. "How do we know he won't talk again?" he asked.

"Because the kid is scared shitless." Chibs pushed himself up off the edge of the table and stepped up to Jax, not in an intimidating way, but in an intimate way. He reached out and settled his hands on Jax's arms, voice softer now. "He knows better now," Chibs said. "I'll back him."

Jax pressed his lips into a fine line, uncertain. "We need a vote," he said, raising his eyebrows. He looked like he was trying to call Chibs' bluff, but the older man didn't budge. "We need to bring this to the table and take a vote on it."

Chibs nodded. "Alright," he said, "on one condition."

"What?"

"If yer gonna ask Juice to spill his guts all over the table, it's only fair that the rest of ye do it too; all of us. We can't have no more secrets in this room, not if we expect this to work out the way ye want it to."

Jax nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "You call Tig and Happy, I'm going to try to find Ope, tell them that we're having church in two hours."


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep had come in fits and starts for Juice, and he was relieved when Chibs came back into the apartment to wake him, saying that Jax was calling everyone to the table. He still felt numb from the night before, the effect of all that tension draining out of his body leaving him little better than a shell the next day, exhausted from lack of sleep and waking up sobbing. But he showered and shaved like any other morning, and let Chibs trim up the back of his hair, clinging to that little bit of routine. It used to be like this every morning, before they went to Stockton, but in the last two weeks he hadn't been able to pay much attention to things that; taking care of himself wasn't exactly high on his list of priorities.

Chibs' guns still sat on the desk, untouched since the night before, and he didn't make a move to put any of it back on when got dressed, nor did he pull his gloves back on. There was still this bareness to him, an openness that Juice found reassuring. They spent a few moments just inside with Juice folded up against Chibs' chest again, the older man murmuring quietly against his ear. Juice had no idea what he was saying, but it didn't matter, all he needed was Chibs' voice and he felt a little but less like his world was spiraling out of control.

Eventually, they had to drag themselves apart, but Chibs kept his hand pressed between Juice's shoulderblades - fingers splayed across the top rocker of his cut - as they made their way down the hall and into the bar. Some of the guys were already there, up earlier than they wanted, milling around the clubhouse. Bobby sat next to the Gemma at the bar, quietly talking over their coffee, while Tig sat on the edge of the pool table and watched Happy neatly rack the pool cues in order of size. Chibs slid his hand up the back of Juice's neck, gave him a brief squeeze, and pulled him in to kiss the side of his head.

"Hungry?" he murmured.

Juice shook his head, "I don't think I could keep anything down if I wanted to," he answered. Turning slightly, he curled his fingers in the edge of Chibs' shirt, pulling him forward almost childishly. "I'm gonna go sit," he said, "bring me some tea, yeah?"

"Sure," Chibs gave a lopsided smile and rubbed his hand reassuringly along Juice's arm.

He nodded back towards the chapel and watched as Juice slipped past him, Tig and Happy, and into the other room. He seemed even more detached than usual this morning and Chibs wondered if he hadn't broke at some point the night before, unable to handle the pressure they kept laying on top of him. Either this would lift the burden off his shoulders or it would create a whole new one, but either way it would be over soon. Chibs probably should have talked this over with him beforehand, but the argument played out easily enough in his head, and he knew that he'd end up doing it regardless. In his gut he knew that this was the right thing, not because of Juice, but because he knew that there was something else going on in the club and it wasn't right for a man to pass judgment on someone else when he was just as guilty. He was going to get everything out in the open, bleed everyone's secrets across the table, and maybe their lies would save a few of them instead of condemning them all.

With a brief kiss to Gemma's cheek and a nod towards Bobby, Chibs made his way to the kitchen. It still hadn't been entirely put back together from the last surprise police raid, but he found the kettle and filled it, searching for a couple of mugs while the water boiled. Tea to Juice and tea to Chibs were entirely different things, but over the years he'd adapted his own routine to two instead of just himself. He fished around in the cabinet, past liquor bottles and several different kinds of coffee, for the wood canister shoved into the back corner, and the smaller box wedged next to it, pulling both down. The utensils clattered in the drawer as he pulled it out, fingering for the strainer and a spoon. It was a tedious job getting things ready, but one that Chibs could do - and had done - half-asleep. He scrubbed a hand across the side of his face, in dire need of a shave, and dropped a tea bag into his cup before he twisted off the top of the wood canister.

The thick, heavy scent, stuck to the back of his throat and reminded him of lazy mornings watching Juice roll his joints for the day at the kitchen table, babbling about something or other, his fingers working leaf and paper into little works of art. It was a nice interlude, a happy memory to hold onto as they worked their way ever closer to the inevitable. If this went bad - and Chibs knew that was a very distinct possibility - he would be the one to carry out the order. It occurred to him that this smell and the memories it tugged out of his mind might be the last good thing he had of the boy. He drew in a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut until the squealing of the kettle forced him to open them again.

He tried to clean up a bit while the tea steeped, just to have something to do with his hands, but he knew that Gemma and Happy would come through and undo whatever he did, so it was no more useful than standing there watching the tea darken. But the sound of the clubhouse door swinging open, and Opie's booming voice saying good morning to everyone, gave him something new to concentrate on. He glanced over his shoulder to see the sliver of sunlight slicing through the other room, partially obscured by two shadows, before the door finally shut behind them and the room was pitched into dim light again. Chibs quickly drained the tea bag and emptied the loose leaves into the trash, shuffling back out into the bar in time to see Jax push through into the chapel. He exchanged a quick nod with Opie as the rest of the guys started to slowly gather, and pressed after Jax, hopefully, before either he or Juice could say something to make this more strained than it already was.

But it couldn't get much more strained than the awkward silence he walked in on. Jax, in the head chair, sat with his elbows on the table and his arms folded, almost staring down Juice from the other end. For his part, the boy had his gaze locked firmly on the top of the table, refusing to even look up when Chibs set his tea down in front of him. He murmured a faint thank you, feigned a look of exhaustion for Jax's benefit, and wrapped both of his hands tightly around the side of the cup. Chibs frowned, but he took his seat at Jax's right hand without a word and waited for the others to file in behind them.

Opie was first, struggling to not look uncomfortable in his new vice president patch as he sunk down in the chair across from Chibs. Happy and Tig followed next, falling into their usual seats with little more than a murmur in regard to the rest. Finally, Bobby shut the doors behind him as he stepped inside and, rounding the end of the table, gave Juice a soft squeeze on his shoulder as he took his seat as well. Their numbers had dwindled so dramatically in the last few days - minus Kozik, Miles, and Clay - that it hardly seemed fair to vote on anything. It played to his favor though; if they excluded Juice from his own vote, they'd only need four people to show sympathy for him, and Chibs was pretty sure two of those men were sitting across from him now. He couldn't count on Tig and Happy for anything short of blowing someone's head off, but he thought he knew enough that he could appeal to the sense of right in wrong in both Opie and Bobby. Jax was a toss-up, but if the right pressure was placed on him by the right people, he'd fold and do the right thing. Chibs just had to pray that things, for once, went according to _his_ plan.

Jax swiveled around in his chair, leaning back with his hands on the arms, and surveyed the men like someone pretending at being in charge. He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for getting you all up this early," he said, "but there are some things we need to resolve before we can do any more business and I'd rather get it said and out of the way as quickly as possible." And before Clay got out of the hospital, no doubt. "I know that not all of you are completely on board with me sitting in this chair, that you would rather not live through a repeat of what happened with JT. But I'm not my father, I'm not going to give up on this club. But I'm not Clay either, and I'm not going to go behind everyone's back and make decisions that affect all of us. This isn't about _me_ ," he said, though it was hard to tell if he really meant it, "this is about all of us, as a club - as a family - and I think the lesson we could all stand to learn is that no family can survive when its members have secrets from one another."

The room responded with a baited silence, no one sure whether Jax expected them to say something or if he was going to stop being so cryptic and tell them what he meant. Juice continued to bury his gaze in his tea, unwavering in his determination to not make eye contact with anyone in the room.

"It's come to my attention," he continued, "that a couple of you have had recent encounters with the Feds..."

Chibs, who'd been watching Juice more than he was paying attention to Jax, saw the tension flex through the younger man's shoulders and up his neck to settle in his clenched jaw. He lifted his gaze slightly, just enough to cast this heartbroken, betrayed look back at Chibs. Softening his own gaze, he tried to look somewhat apologetic, before turning away.

"Does anyone want to say anything about that?"

For a moment, the attention in the room shifted to Bobby, who had obviously been implicated by Otto in some sort of deal, but he just looked between them, bewildered, for a moment until Juice slid his chair back and stood. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, jaw still clenched, as he tried to hold back a seething look of disappointment. Wetting his lips, he scanned the room, and finally locked his gaze on Jax.

"You already know what happened," he said with a shrug, "so I'm just doing this for the benefit of everyone else, right? So they can make an educated decision about what to do?" Jax nodded, and Juice drew in a tense breath. "I thought so." He worried the inside of his lip between his teeth, flexing his fingers on the table top, and tried to pull his words together. He knew he had to be more concise than he had been with Chibs, just because these guys weren't going to give him the same amount of time and attention, but it was hard to know how much of the truth he had to let go of in order to lift this burden off his chest.

Gathering himself, Juice gave a resigned nod. "The Feds found out something about my father," he started, "something that they told me would get me kicked out of the club and, since, I've discovered is actually completely irrelevant. But at the time I was terrified that if any of you found out, it would be the end of me here."

"What?" Tig cut in, his arms folded across his chest as he looked up at Juice. Tig had never been his biggest fan, but now it looked like he was searching for a reason to finally take his anger out on someone.

"My father is black," Juice answered. "I mean, I knew who he was, but he was never my father - he was just a name, a guy who donated to my genetics. Since I never thought of him in that way, it didn't occur to me that it might ever come up."

Tig nodded, mouth contorting into a contemplative frown. "Right," he muttered, leaving Juice to continue.

"They used that information, and the threat that went along with it, to convince me to help them make a case against the cartel. They wanted me to get them a sample of the coke we were moving and you all know how well that went." He paused just long enough to see the flash of realization on Happy's face, before it was replaced with confusion again, and then glossed over with that blank stare of his once more. "They picked me again," he continued, "and told me that they were making a RICO case against us and if I didn't tell them where we were setting up the hand-off between the Irish and the cartel, then they would move forward on that and put all of us back in prison." He pulled in another deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart and shaking hands.

"And?" Chibs murmured, looking up at him from up the table.

Juice exhaled sharply and chewed the inside of his cheek. "And then I tried to kill myself," he admitted, tugging down the side of his collar to show the deep purple bruise that still marred his skin, "when the choice was still either rat out my club or send us all to prison again. I couldn't do either of those things to you guys, so I thought the better decision was to remove myself from the situation entirely so the Feds couldn't use me to get to you anymore. But as you can see, I fucked that up too."

Tig opened his mouth to say something, but Jax cut in with a, "Finish."

Nodding, Juice rubbed his hands on the front of his jeans. "When they released me last night," he said, "the sheriff told me that, for some reason, the ATF had been pulled from the case - the cartel case and the RICO case against us - and that all testimonies and records had been destroyed. To prove it, he handed me my file and told me he thought I'd want to take care of it myself, which I did, before I came back here. I'm sure that's why they let Bobby out too," he shrugged. "But it's all gone, like it never happened. The only reason I'm saying anything now is that, like Jax said, this club has been crumbling around all of us because of our secrets and I can't keep this. I don't want to."

Still unable to look at anyone, Juice sunk back down in his seat, only to feel Bobby reach out and gently squeeze his arm. His eyes stung, face warm with shame, and he gave another weak nod to acknowledge the touch.

"So what are we going to do?" Tig finally asked, sneering at Juice across the table.

"You're going to listen," Jax replied, "because now I've got something to say."

Juice looked just as surprised by that as everyone else - everyone, it seemed, except for Chibs, who just lifted his cup to his mouth and took a long sip. Juice wrapped his hands around his own cup, still warm, the tea still giving off sweet-smelling steam, though it turned the nervousness in his stomach to linger too long over it.

"The reason the ATF was able to build their RICO case in the first place," he started, "aside from the information they already had on us from before we went to Stockton, was because Otto flipped. Someone told him that Georgie was still alive which apparently convinced him that Bobby was actually the one who killed Luann. He made some kind of deal, the details of which I haven't been able to get hold of yet, and in exchange gave them a list of all his dealings for the club both inside and out. But," he paused to steeple his hands momentarily under his jaw, "Juice is right, all the records are gone. The information that Otto gave the Feds is gone, or else Bobby would still be in jail for Luann's murder, and we would probably be making our way there ourselves too. I think it's fair to assume that whatever Juice told them - or didn't tell them - has also been destroyed. Like it never happened," he grudgingly admitted.

"But it did happen," Tig retorted, "and how do we know it won't happen again?"

"Because we're not keeping shit from each other inside this room anymore," Jax snapped back. "This would never have happened in the first place if we didn't get involved with the cartel. I know we voted on it, but the fact remains that Clay lied to us all about the deal he made inside. He knew when we took the first vote that the agreement involved moving their coke for them, but he knew we'd never agree to it, so he kept that from us and put the plan in motion anyhow. It's because of that breach of honesty and trust that we're even having this discussion in the first place."

"Right," Tig replied, "but that doesn't tell me how we can trust him not to fold under the pressure again."

"Because he'd rather kill himself than do that again, wouldn't you?" His head canted towards Juice, who looked vaguely mortified at the end of the table, and nodded. "And because if he does, then Chibs goes down with him."

"What?" Juice stammered.

"I vouched for ye," Chibs said with a shrug, "because I trust ye learned yer lesson, and if this happens again yer gonna do the right thing and tell someone about it before making any stupid decisions on yer own."

Juice went silent, staring up the table at Chibs, until Jax spoke again.

"That's not everything," he said. "There are things that even Clay didn't know, that I only found out yesterday, and I think it's only fair that you all know what we're involved in, now that we can't get out of it: the reason why the ATF was pulled from the RICO case and how I know for certain those documents were destroyed." He glanced around the room quickly, just to make sure everyone was still following him. Tig looked annoyed, but he was just as attentive as everyone else, no doubt curious for an explanation.

"The Irish refuse to trade with anyone who isn't Clay," he started, trying to figure out how to keep this from getting bogged down in details, "which is why the deal didn't go down yesterday. When I tried to tell the cartel that Clay wasn't in power anymore and there was nothing I could do to get them their guns, Romeo and his sidekick both flashed badges at me." He slid his hands back through his hair and straightened up in his chair, "It seems that the CIA are enabling the Galindo cartel to fight the good fight in Mexico, in hopes that they'll eliminate the other cartels and bring an end to the violence - a lesser of two evils sort of deal. But in order to fight, the cartel needs the guns from the Irish and the money from the sale of their coke. We're the only ones who can make that happen for them, which makes us instrumental in their activities, and it also makes us immune to prosecution for our involvement, since the CIA has jurisdiction over the ATF, as long as we continue to cooperate with the cartel. Clay didn't know any of this when he made the deal, but I doubt it would have changed his mind about any of it. The problem this poses for us now, however, is that we have to keep Clay alive and dealing with the Irish, or else the cartel is going to hand us all over to the Feds."

A drawn-out silence settled over the room, with everyone sort of staring at Jax, some of them connecting everything faster than others.

"So you're saying there's no way out of this?" Opie asked.

Jax shook his head. "Nope. And we can't kill Clay either."

"Why would we be killing Clay?" Tig frowned, his attention momentarily diverted from Juice to something, in his mind, slightly more important.

Opie looked between Tig and Jax, then shrugged. "I guess if we're going for honesty here," he said. "I'm the one who shot Clay, and I would have killed him too if Jax hadn't pulled me off of him."

Tig just looked confused. "Why?" he asked, "I'm the one who-"

"Clay killed my dad," Opie clarified, before Tig could mention Donna. "Unser made it look like a hit, but he and Gemma both told me it was Clay. Apparently my dad had some dirt on him and was going to bring it to the club and Clay couldn't let the old man ruin him, so he shut him up instead."

"He was the one who ordered the hit on Tara too," Jax cut in, "and I'm pretty sure he had something to do with not only Lowell, Sr's death but also JT's. I can't prove it absolutely, but I'm certain he's behind it."

"Shit," Tig muttered, slumping back in his chair. He looked across at Jax and Opie and shook his head. "I'm so sorry guys..."

Opie shrugged again, more unwilling to talk about it than anything. It wasn't an issue he needed to discuss with the club any more than it had already been done. They could draw their own conclusions about Clay now, with everything make its way out into the open, and Jax finally being open about everything that had weighed down on him for the last few weeks. He didn't feel better, not really, but he felt a little bit less like he was going to break the next thing that got in his way.

"So knowing what we know now," Jax said, "about everything that led up to this - the fact that Clay set in motion a series of events that set in motion another series of events that none of us had any control over or way out of - I think we need to take a vote." He glanced down the table at Juice who, expression set, looked back up at him with as much confidence as he could rally. "In or out. Chibs?"

"Yea," the man nodded, without any hesitation.

"Ope?"

"I know the feeling, brother..." Opie said softly. "Yea."

Jax turned and looked at Tig, who clenched his jaw. "No," he answered, "I'm sorry, kid."

"Yes," Happy, who had been eerily silent through the whole proceedings, nodded.

Bobby nodded, "Yea."

"That's a majority in," Jax said, "and for what it's worth, my vote is 'yes' too. Just don't fuck up again," he said, reaching over to slam the gavel down.

Juice exhaled, unaware that he'd been holding his breath through the vote. As relief overwhelmed him, his hands suddenly starting to shake again, and tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He caught Jax nod at Chibs and then cock his head in Juice's direction, and a moment later Chibs was making his way around the end of the table towards him. The older man knelt, turning Juice chair around to face him, and pulled the younger man in against his chest again. Juice's arms twist desperately around Chibs' shoulders, heaving faint cries into the curve of his neck.

"There now," Chibs murmured, stroking his hand over Juice's hair. "I said I'd take care of ye, didn't I?"

"I'm so sorry," Juice sputtered, trying to make sense through the tears, but Chibs just held him closer.

From the other side of the table, Jax managed a faint smirk. "Is there anything else anyone wants to share while we're having honesty hour?"

"I'm not gonna lie," Tig said, "I'm a little turned on by the kid crying."

Juice lifted his head just enough to manage to turn a sob into a laugh.


End file.
